


Ghost of You

by lostonthisisland



Category: Green Day
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonthisisland/pseuds/lostonthisisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike Pritchard meets Billie Joe Armstrong under strange circumstances he learns he might be the only one capable of saving the other’s life, or is he already too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappearing Boy

**Author's Note:**

> k, so, I wrote this story *years* ago... but I just reread it and I'm actually really proud of it and I don't know why I haven't posted it here yet. so, hope you like it!

Mike is staring at the crushed hunk of metal that used to be someone’s 1994 red Jetta. The woman news reporter’s voice was going on about the drunk driver that hit the Jetta and got away scotch free. The other driver, not so lucky.

 

Typical.

 

Mike scoffs into his soggy Cheerios, the world never failing to amaze him with its cruelty.

 

“The fuck you watchin’? Turn that shit off, it’s depressing.” Tré snaps the small television off and shuffles into the kitchen dressed in his ratty blue robe and some shorts. “Don’t forget we have the long shift today.”

 

Mike grunts in response and uses his spoon to poke at his cereal, watching the little circles bob and spin around his bowl.

 

“Still moping?”

 

“What?” He turns to Tré and watches his friend rifle through their cereal cabinet, looking for something chock full of sugar, no doubt.

 

“You heard me. Ever since Sarah broke up with you, you’ve been sulking around this apartment like some emo kid, sleeping in all day and listening to shitty music. You’re bummin’ me out, man.”

 

Mike stares at Tré, suddenly feeling like a shithead. He knew he was mourning the break up, he just didn’t realize how much it was bothering his friend, “Sorry.” He says quietly.

 

“Aw, c’mon…don’t-don’t do that, man.” Tré whines, grabbing the milk out of the fridge and putting it down roughly on the counter.

 

“Do what?”

 

“ _That_. That ‘let’s-stare-at-Tré-like-a-kicked-puppy’ look.” His friend sighs and uncrumples the plastic holding his Lucky Charms, “Man, I know you’re all…heart broken ‘n stuff right now, and you have every right to be. That bitch didn’t just break your heart, she ripped it up and fed it to the dogs…”

 

Mike looks up at Tré sharply and the latter suddenly looks sheepish.

 

“Sorry, I meant that in the most delicate way possible, of course.”

 

Mike frowns and drops his eyes to his cereal bowl again, “No, you’re right though. She was a bitch.”

 

“Ha! See, I told you.” There’s a thud and a noisy clatter as Tré hops up onto the counter, his heels kicking against the cabinets below, cereal bowl in hand. “Don’t worry, Mike. I’ll help you get back on your feet – we can go out to a bar or somethin’ after work!”

 

“Tré, we _work_ at a bar. What makes you think I’d want to see another one when my shift ends?”

 

Tré shrugs, mumbling into his Lucky Charms, “ _I_ would want to…”

 

Mike snorts and stands up to dump his bowl in the sink. He glances at the clock on the stove, _10:52_ _._ He sighs, not looking forward to the long shift at Red’s tonight. Tré’s right though, about him moping all the time. Getting out of the apartment should help, doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

 

 

**

 

 

Mike hates the early shift, he really does. The place is a dive, so the hours stretch on while the bar stays pretty much dead in the early hours. There’s the occasional guy in a suit that stumbles in looking like his marriage just broke off or he just got fired from that nice desk job. A few young people might come in to have lunch with some friends and shoot a little pool. And there’s always Red, the owner who lives upstairs, who helped Mike out with the job offer when he was a week away from living on the streets.

 

But, other than that the place has no life and Mike spends his time trying to throw cards into empty shot glasses, Tré chatting his ear off about some girl that’s been coming in to hit on him.

 

“I didn’t say she was hitting on me,” His shorter friend shrugs and grabs the bar while he swivels in jerky little motions on the stool, “I said she _wants_ to hit on me. I can tell.”

 

He smiles goofily and Mike snorts, “So, has this girl even talked to you yet? Or, does she just _want_ to talk to you, you can tell.”

 

Tré’s grin drops, “Shuddup, man. She wants me.”

 

“-You can tell?” Mike bites back his laugh when Tré sends him a glare.

 

“You know those cards won’t fit into a shot glass, stupid.”

 

“Aww, why’d you have to go and ruin all my hopes and dreams like that, Tré?” He pouts with mock disappointment and drops what cards are left in his hand onto the bar top.

 

“You needed a reality check.”

 

Mike sticks his tongue out at his friend and before Tré can retaliate, the front door opens and three laughing young girls walk in.

 

Tré oggles the girls as they saunter over to other end of the bar and smirks at Mike, “Duty calls.”

 

He watches the shorter man hop over the counter and slide in front of the girls, smiling his most charming smile, he leans in to say something that make them all giggle and blush.

 

Mike smiles fondly at his friend before picking up all the cards littered over the bar top.

 

“Mikey.” Red’s gruff voice calls out and he looks up to see the heavy man makes his way over, taking the stool Tré had vacated. “I heard ‘bout you and your girl splitting, just wanted ta’ say it’s too bad it didn’t work out, son.” The older man’s large brown eyes give him a look of concern and Mike shifts uncomfortably.

 

He doesn’t want to be reminded of Sarah, but Red’s like a father figure to him, he knows he only means the best.

 

Mike gives a tense smile, “Thanks, Red.”

 

“No problem, kid. I wouldn’t worry too much ‘bout it though, good boy like you? You’ll find a nice girl soon enough and she’ll be worth the wait.” Red nods like he’s seen the future and knows his words are sure.

 

Mike doesn’t have that faith though, not anymore. He’d thought Sarah was the one, right up until the day he’d found out she’d been sleeping around behind his back.

 

Red chuckles and Mike looks up to see him watching Tré down the length of the bar, “Now, he would be lucky to get a nice girl to settle down with him.”

 

He grins as he watches Tré down the bar and wishes he had that ease going up to women and talking to them without the fear of something stupid and unedited coming out of his mouth.

 

Red stays and talks with him until the late crowd starts to filter in, then he waves Mike off and lets him get to back to work.

 

Around nine p.m. the place is back to its normal loud, smoky atmosphere. Music turned up and the sound of people laughing and having a good time. Red’s got the night off and Jason and Holly come in to help Mike and Tré work.

 

There’s a group of college kids playing an epic version of beer pong, shot glasses built high into the form of a pyramid. Tré had joined in and a small crowd has gathered around them all, cheering them on.

 

Holly surprises him when she stands next to him behind the counter where he’s watching Tré and says, “Look at you,” Amusement coloring her voice.

 

He turns to her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and she nudges him in the side, “Nothing, it’s just, I guess I haven’t seen you looking this relaxed in a while. Smiling and everything, who would’ve thought?”

 

Mike feels the burn in his cheeks from grinning like a moron all night, she was right, he was having fun. And it did feel really good to be out and laughing with his friends again, “I guess I just really needed to get out of the apartment.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you did.” She smiles up at him before sliding down the counter to a new customer, her small frame leaning over in a way that catches Mike’s eye for longer than necessary. Clearing his throat, Mike pulls his gaze back over to the people crowding the bar only to have it land on someone looking quite out of place in the noisy throng.

 

In a booth in the back corner of the bar a guy with messy dark hair is sitting there, his face somber and eyes idly scanning the people around him. The side of his face is dark and Mike knows it’s not the shadows playing tricks on him. He frowns; this guy is the only one in the whole bar not having a good time and the only one sitting completely alone. He doesn’t even have a drink on him.

 

Mike looks away from the guy to grab Jason while his coworker is reaching for the shot glasses behind the counter, “Hey, you seen him around here before?”

 

He nods to the back of the bar and stares when suddenly the booth is empty.

 

“What guy?”

 

Mike quickly searches the crowd, whoever the guy was, he’s gone now, “Never mind.”

 

He tries to enjoy the rest of the night but for some reason his gaze keeps flicking over to the booth in the back. It’s always empty when he looks, but that doesn’t seem to stop him. Mike doesn’t know the reason why he’s waiting and it unsettles him.

 

He goes back to his apartment that night straight after work, declining Tré’s offer to bar hop. Lying in bed, Mike stares up at his ceiling, feeling worse than he did that morning.

 


	2. Brain Stew

There are urgent voices all around him and Mike tries to open his eyes and see who they belong to, but they won’t budge. In fact, nothing does. And he feels the prickle slide of panic lace his veins when he finds himself unable to move any part of his body.

 

Although he’s paralyzed he can still feel himself moving very fast. Noises are whipping by, telephones ringing, people yelling and feet thudding on the ground pass over him like the Doppler Effect. Only the scritch-screech of noisy wheels somewhere beneath him and the deep voice of someone above him keep consistent with his ears.

 

He feels numb in a way that frightens him and he wishes more than anything he could just open his eyes and see what was happening. There’s a building pressure in his head, eliciting a kind of pain that’s so immense he doesn’t understand it.

 

He doesn’t understand any of this. How did he get here? What’s happening to him? He doesn’t remember anything.

 

His chest feels tight and it takes him a moment to realize why. He can’t breathe. The noises and confusion continue around him as he lies prone and helpless while a cold metal band seems to slip around his lungs and squeeze with all its might.

 

He can feel his heart racing inside his chest, blood pumping erratically through his pulse points as he struggles for breath. There are people around him and he tries to scream out but nothing happens. He’s locked inside his own body, scared and powerless.

 

He’s going to die, he thinks as he feels the band around his lungs grow tighter, easing the pressure in his head.  He recognizes the feeling, he’s getting high. His body is becoming weightless and what little grasp he’d had on his surroundings are slipping. This is what dying must feel like. It’s terrifying.

 

He doesn’t want to die.

 

Sounds are fading and his vision grows darker beneath the backs of his eyelids.

 

 _Please_ , he doesn’t want to die.

 

Just when it feels like the hammering of his heart is starting to fade away he hears a steady whine grow nearby. A voice yells out and penetrates his cloudy mind, one word.

 

_Clear!_

 

He’s jackknifed back to reality when pain slams into his chest, into his ribs. His body jolts off the ground and needles fly through his veins.

 

_Clear!_

 

Mike sits bolt upright in bed, his lungs gasping for air. A dream, he thinks, staring at his bedroom walls. Oh, thank god, a dream.

 

It felt so real, so intense. The _pain_.

 

He rubs at his right pec, the ghost of the defibrillator paddle burning into his skin, fading like a memory.

 

His sheets are tangled around his legs, damp from his sweat and Mike kicks them off, relishing the cool air that hits his skin. Falling back to his pillows, Mike glances at the alarm clock beside his bed. The red light glows three a.m. back at him. He groans and flings an arm over his eyes. It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

**

 

“Rough night?”

 

Mike looks up just as Tré plops down on the other end of the couch.

 

“Am I that obvious?”

 

His friend grins at him and shrugs, “The phrase ‘death warmed over’ comes to mind, yeah.”

 

Mike scrubs a palm over his face, his eyes feel scratchy and swollen, “Had a nightmare. Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

 

“Do you remember what it was about?”

 

Mike’s mind is assaulted with the things he’d heard and felt in his dream, the buzz of shock paddles and the burn on his chest. The uncontrollable sensation of dying. He looks at his friend across the couch, “No.”

 

“Bummer.” Tré snags the remote and starts flipping through the channels on their crappy little TV.

 

Mike frowns as he watches him, “Hey, how come you don’t look like death warmed over this morning? If I remember correctly you spent the night getting shitfaced.”

 

Tré laughs and shrugs, stopping on an old rerun of Cheers, “Dude, I don’t even know – I guess I just have awesome tolerance.”

 

“That’s a lie; we both know you have shitty tolerance.”

 

“Ha, yeah, that’s true.” His friend kicks his feet up on the rusted trunk they use as a coffee table, “Guess I was just lucky last night.”

 

Mike shakes his head absently; hating his friend just a little bit at that moment. Tré was out, flirting with girls, getting drunk and having fun last night without any of the repercussions come morning, while Mike had spent the time tossing and turning in bed, trying to shake off the unsettling dream that had kept him up.

 

He stands and grabs his keys off the coffee table, checking his pockets for his cigarettes.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Red’s.”

 

“You have off today.” Tré frowns up at him.

 

“I know, but I need to be doing something right now. Burn some of this energy so I can sleep.” Somehow he feels like that’s not the real reason he wants to get to Red’s, but he doesn’t know how else to answer.

 

“You don’t have to leave to be doing something. Here, make me breakfast. French toast with powdered sugar and some eggs, over easy, sunny-side up-”

 

Mike thwacks Tré on the back of the head as he makes his way to the door, grabbing his coat off the back of the kitchen chair. “Make it yourself, you lazy ass.”

 

Tré kneels up on the couch, turning to Mike and looking hurt, “Hey, if you asked me I would do it in a heartbeat, ‘cause that’s what kind of roommate I am.”

 

Mike laughs, “Liar, when have you ever made me food?”

 

“You never asked!” Tré grins and Mike rolls his eyes.

 

“Whatever, I’m leaving. See you tonight.”

 

Tré scoffs and waves him off, sprawling out over the couch now that he has it to himself.

 

 

**

 

 

Mike starts to feel a little bit better as he washes the booths at Red’s. Though surprised, Jason had been more than happy to let Mike take his place when he asked.

 

It’s Sunday afternoon and the place is damn near empty, but Mike makes work cleaning. He washes the floor and cleans off the tables before doing some inventory.

 

Mike’s changing the kegs for the tap line in the back when he hears Red grunt by the doorway.

 

He looks up and the older man raises his eyebrows, “Where’s Jason?”

 

Pushing the handle on the tap down, Mike straightens up and shrugs, “Took the day off.”

 

“That’s funny,” Red cocks his head and narrows his eyes, “I sure don’t remember tellin’ him he could go.”

 

“Sorry, Red. I just wanted to be working, I guess.”

 

Red chuckles and takes his hat off to smooth his thinning hair back, “Wanted to work. Boy, never thought I’d hear the day one of my kids _wanted_ to work.”

 

Mike smiles, he likes the way Red refers to his bartenders like they’re one of his own. He supposes they’re the closest the man’s ever had to family.

 

“Well, I have ta’ go and you got a customer, so git your butt back out there, son.”

 

Mike nods and makes his way back out to the bar where a guy is sitting slumped over at the far end looking rather sad and pathetic. Lost his job, Mike thinks and walks down to his end, or maybe his girl.

 

“What can I do you for today?”

 

The guy looks up at him, eyebrows drawn together beneath his mussed black hair and Mike feels like he’s seen him before.

 

His patron quickly looks behind him, like he’s checking to see if other people are around before turning back to Mike, “Me?”

 

Inwardly, Mike rolls his eyes, this guy is a mess. His clothes are torn and there’s a large bruise down the right side of his face, cuts on his hands. Must have gotten in a fight, received a concussion no doubt.

 

“Yes, man. What can I get you? You look like you could use a drink.”

 

The guy suddenly looks down at himself and pulls his arms off the counter, settling them in his lap in a self conscious manner.

 

“Uhh…water is fine. It’s free, right?”

 

“Yeah, you just get mugged or something?” Mike quickly chastises himself for assuming the guy was a deadbeat – maybe he’d just had a _really_ bad day.

 

“Yeah, something.” His customer murmurs and Mike grabs a tall glass, turning to fill it with water.

 

A woman makes her way out of the bathroom and Mike hadn’t realized somebody else was here. He expects her to sit down next to the mugged-or-something guy but her heels click down to the middle of the bar and she sets her purse on the stool next to her.

 

“Be with you in a minute.” He says to her and places the glass of water in front of the guy, who gives him a tight smile, eyes flicking to the girl at the bar. He doesn’t move to touch his drink.

 

“Excuse me,” The woman says, her voice nasally and impatient, “What is with the service in this place? I’m never coming back here again.” She stares at the glass of water like it just grew fangs and taps her long crimson nails on the bar top. “You people are weird. Get me a gin and tonic.”

 

Yeah, Mike thinks, because the trampy lady with an aversion to anything non-alcoholic at two in the afternoon is completely normal.

 

He shoots the guy in front of him a suffering look before getting the woman her cocktail.

 

When he makes his way back over the guy is staring at him strangely. He shrugs it off and asks, “Do I know you?”

 

The bedraggled man cocks his head and Mike clarifies, “It’s just… you look really familiar is all.”

 

“Don’t think so.” He says quietly and continues to stare at him.

 

“Oh, well…” Mike sticks his hand out, “Name’s Mike.”

 

The guy’s eyes fall to his outstretched hand and he nods at it, “Billie Joe.”

 

Awkwardly, Mike pulls his hand back and clears his throat. He looks down the bar and the gin and tonic lady is gaping at him, head slowly shaking back and forth.

 

Man, that woman is a loon.

 

He turns back to Billie, smiling a bit uncomfortably, “Well, I should get back to work.”

 

Billie nods, and lets him. Fifteen minutes later, after the cocktail lady left and Mike is cleaning out shot glasses, he finds himself regretting the offer to take Jason’s place as he continues to feel Billie Joe’s eyes burning holes in his back.

 

 


	3. Jaded

Mike stays at Red’s the whole night, despite the creepy guy that sits at the end of the bar and watches him. The crowd starts to filter in and Tré comes in for his shift, making Mike feel a whole lot better. The next time he glances at the end of the bar he’s relieved to see it devoid of Billie.

 

However, his good feeling is ruined ten minutes later when he spots Billie Joe in the back corner booth. Mike watches him and he suddenly realizes why the guy had looked so familiar, he was the one Mike saw the night before. Except, his eyes aren’t scanning the crowd this time, they’re focused on Mike.

 

He tries to tell Tré, but he doesn’t want the guy to know what he’s doing. So he tells his friend not to look right away. Only, a few minutes later when Tré comes back from waiting on a table his friend says he didn’t see anybody.

 

Mike tries to glance back up at the booth inconspicuously, but he finds it empty.

 

The guy is like a ghost with his vanishing acts and it makes Mike uncomfortable. Like a little spider he’d been watching inch across the wall for the past few hours suddenly disappeared and all he can think about is how it’s on him, crawling somewhere unseen.

 

The bar stays open until four a.m. on Sundays and Mike stays until closing, feeling safe in the presence of his friends. Until of course, “Hey, Mike, I’m not comin’ home tonight, okay?”

 

Mike’s clearing away the last of the empty beer bottles as he abruptly looks up at his friend, the question already forming on his lips. But Tré’s standing with his arm wrapped around a leggy blonde in a short dress, his eyebrows waggling and a goofy grin on his face.

 

“Oh… okay. Have fun.” He waves at them through a handful of bottles as Tré ushers the girl out, who’s probably more than a little drunk, and winks at Mike.

 

He finishes clearing up and says goodbye to Red before making his way around back where he’d parked his truck that morning. He’s anxious to get home.

 

“Hiya.”

 

Mike whirls around with wide eyes and half a mind to raise his fists.

 

“Sorry!” Billie holds his hands up, palms out and looks at him sheepishly, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“What-what are you doing here? Uhh… Billie Joe, right?”

 

“Yeah, just Billie is fine…” He rubs the back of his neck in a nervous manner, eyes peering through his bangs at Mike, “I, uh, I actually just wanted to apologize… for being a creeper all night.”

 

Mike tries to look confused, but Billie’s expression tells him he’s transparent.

 

“I know I made you uneasy, don’t pretend you didn’t notice me starin’.”

 

He suddenly thinks this is Billie’s way of hitting on a guy and expects the next words out of his mouth to be some cheesy pickup line.

 

Instead, he surprises him by saying, “I just wanted to make sure you were normal.”

 

Mike snorts out a disbelieving laugh before he can stop it, “Right, wanted to make sure _I_ was normal.”

 

Billie grins at that, “Yeah, guess I deserved that one.”

 

Mike shuffles his feet, it’s cold out. “So, why did you want to make sure I wasn’t crazy?” Again, he waits for the cheesy pickup line.

 

“Uh… y’know, lot of weirdos out there…want make sure I don’t befriend one.”

 

What, he doesn’t want to be friends with his own kind? Mike thinks and watches Billie fidget with the zipper on his hoodie. He hums in agreement at Billie’s statement, not quite sure what to say.

 

They stand there for a little while, the silence between them incredibly awkward. Mike decides to break it with the first thing he can think of, “It’s cold out.” Nice, way to be Captain Obvious.

 

Billie looks up at him like he’s waiting for Mike to say more, so he does, “Um, want a ride?” and then mentally kicks himself.

 

The smaller man looks at the truck behind Mike’s back like it’s going to eat him and stammers, “No, thanks. I, uh, don’t live far.”

 

He nods in return and another silence settles between them before Billie asks, “So, you gonna be here tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah, I’m full time.” He waits a short pause before adding, “I get Sundays off.”

 

“Oh… today’s Sunday.” Billie looks at him with a funny face and Mike laughs at the expression.

 

“Yeah, I know – I _had_ off. Felt like working.”

 

“Oh, okay.” The awkward silence making another appearance and Mike’s about to try and end this weird conversation, but Billie beats him to the punch, “Well, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

He nods and Billie smiles in return. He gives a little wave and Mike mirrors him, watching the shorter guy amble back to the front of the building.

 

Mike stands next to his truck for a little while and stares at the last place he’d seen Billie. He feels odd. He doesn’t know if it was just the awkward conversation or the whole stalker guy vibe or what.

 

Shrugging it off, Mike climbs into his truck and sets it into gear. He’s home before he knows it and doesn’t even really remember making all the necessary turns and stops to get there. Their little conversation is still playing on a loop in his head.

 

 

**

 

Mike calls in sick Monday morning and feels like a shithead for lying to Red. But the old man is as understanding as ever, thanking him for coming in Sunday and wishing him to get well soon.

 

He hangs up and tries to convince himself he’s staying home because he’s tired, still catching up on lost sleep. Not because of a certain dark haired man waiting for him at the bar.

 

Mike shakes his head, trying to erase the guy from his mind and collapses onto the sofa. Tré hasn’t come home yet from the night out with his lady friend and the apartment is blissfully silent.

 

He tugs their only throw pillow out from under his body and hugs it beneath his head. He can feel his heart pulsing somewhere in his stomach and lets out a content sigh, shutting his eyes.

 

 

 

“…might never wake up. I’m sorry.”

 

Somebody is crying.

 

His body is heavy. Is he paralyzed again? Can he see?

 

His head hurts. His throat is dry. He’s tired.

 

Something touches his arm and he wants to jerk in surprise, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

 

“Pray with me.” Somebody says, “Pray with me, baby.”

 

Sound he didn’t realize was there starts to fade and the world gets bright. Blinding light envelopes him and the next thing he knows he’s standing in the middle of the street, screaming his lungs out.

 

It hurts. It grates on his throat and he carries on until it rasps out of existence.

 

He feels so _helpless_. He doesn’t understand why, but he just feels so hollow inside. His chest aches in a pain that isn’t quite physical and his heart seems to shatter within him. It makes him want to do nothing but curl into a ball and weep ‘til he’s drowning in his own tears.

 

 

Mike opens his eyes slowly. The tendrils of his dream wither away to the back of his mind.

 

He glances at the clock on their DVD player, _8:37 a.m._

 

He’d only been asleep for twenty minutes. God, what was with these dreams? They’re too real, too much.

 

Mike realizes he doesn’t want to be sitting at home anymore. He can’t spend a day shuffling around the apartment all by his lonesome, his dream haunting him. He groans and picks himself up off the couch, shuffling his way to the bathroom so he can take a shower.

 

Guess he’s going to see weird-guy-Billie today after all.


	4. Things I Heard Today

When Mike makes his way through Red’s front door he expects to find Billie at the end of the bar, staring at him. Instead, he finds something that makes him want to turn back around and get the hell out of dodge.

 

“Michael!”

 

He tries to smile and hide the horrified look he’d had on his face a moment before, but he was never good at schooling his features.

 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We’re so over the drama by now, get over yourself.”

 

Sarah is sitting at the bar. She has a long island iced tea held in her well manicured hands and a stupid looking jock-type guy next to her with his arm slung around her shoulder.

 

He makes his way behind the bar. Jason’s there and he gives Mike a sympathetic frown, shrugging a little.

 

He wishes he’d decided to stay home.

 

“Michael, this is _Brock_. My boyfriend.” She says the guy’s name like a he’s some kind of God. She’s gazing at him and fluttering her eyelashes, giggling and looking stupid as hell.

 

Mike loathes her and as much as he wants to write her off as a dumb bimbo and call it a day, he can’t. He’d been with her for two years. He knows she’s just playing it up, putting on a mask and making the guy feel like a stud. She’ll have him wrapped around her pretty little French tipped finger in no time.

 

For a second, Mike pities the guy. Until _Brock_ sniffs like he’s too good for it all and nods his head in Mike’s direction, “Sup?”

 

Sarah squeals a laugh beneath the guys arm, patting his chest and playing with the straw in her mouth.

 

 _God,_ Mike hopes she didn’t act this bad when they’d first started going out. He didn’t think so.

 

“Uhm,” Mike clears his throat, “Sarah? Can I talk to you?”

 

She scoffs and rolls her big brown eyes, “Fine.” Then she turns to her boyfriend, “Babe, can you go get me my purse, I left it in the car.”

 

Brock frowns and she bats her eyelashes at him, “Uhh, okay.”

 

As soon as he’s out the door Mike sees the shift in Sarah and her next words come out harsh, “What is it, Michael?”

 

“Oh, nothing, I just wanted to see you without your whipping boy. Tell me, does he still think you’re being faithful to him?” Mike bites out, surprising himself.

 

“Ugh, this is _exactly_ why I didn’t want to come here.”

 

“Then why _did_ you come here, Sarah?” He has a feeling it was to trample through his territory with stilettos and show off her pet, Mike Pritchard, new and improved _._

 

“Because! I’m not going to avoid my favorite bars just because my whiny ex-boyfriend works there.”

 

Mike guffaws at that, “You hate this place! You tried to make me quit like a thousand times and it’s the one thing I managed to not give up for you. And thank god I didn’t!”

 

“Yes, Michael. God forbid you lose this craphole. You might actually get a real job.”

 

“ _Hey._ ” Mike growls out and stops himself. Look what she was doing to him. He couldn’t let Sarah get under his skin like this anymore.

 

Stomping down the anger coiled in his gut, Mike grips the bar top hard until his knuckles white. “Please leave.” He says calmly and Sarah simply rests her elbows on the table, her fingers reaching out to twirl the straw in her drink.

 

“Make me.”

 

Before Mike can respond he hears a gruff voice behind him, calm and cool say, “I think it’s best you leave right now, pretty lady. We have the right to refuse service to anybody we damn well please.”

 

Red’s got his arms crossed over his big stomach and a ‘don’t mess with the bull’ look written clearly across his features.

 

Luckily, Sarah’s smarter than the con role she plays. She stands up, huffing and glaring at Mike while Brock comes back in holding a small white purse.

 

“We’re leaving.” She tells him, grabbing her purse and clicking her high heels out the door, “This place is a shithole.”

 

Mike watches as a flustered Brock grabs his coat and follows Sarah back outside.

 

“Red,” he starts, already turning to the older man, an apology in his throat.

 

Red waves him off, a smile back on his scruffy face, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, son. She wasn’t a very nice girl.”

 

Mike gives him a grateful look and Red shrugs before saying, “Ay, so I guess you feel better then?”

 

He nods and stays quiet, still feeling guilty about the lie.

 

“Well good, let’s put you to work, boy.” He slides a gum scraper across the bar and Mike slaps his hand down on it before it flies past him. “You peel gum off table bellies for a while, damn kids don’t know what a trash bin is good for.”

 

Mike smirks and makes his way over to the booths in the back.

 

It goes steady like that for a while, Mike scraping gum and Jason mopping the floors. Mondays are slow as hell and Jason’s a real quiet guy, so it doesn’t take long before Mike’s lost deep in his thoughts.

 

He doesn’t hear the front door chime or see the person walking in until they sit down at one of the tables nearby.

 

“Billie.” He says, looking up at the smaller man. He looks the same, bruised and dirty – same ripped hoodie and dirty jeans.

 

Billie sees Mike give him the once-over apparently because he explains, “Yeah, I know, I um, never got home last night.”

 

Mike’s staring at him and Billie shrugs, “Locked out.” He says and nods.

 

Mike gets the feeling he’s being lied to.

 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Mike returns the nod and that damn awkward silence creeps between them again. He frowns and stands up, he’s knees hurting, “Where’d Jason go?”

 

Billie tenses next to him, “Someone else is working with you today?”

 

“Yeah, he’s kind of new, only worked here about a month. Quiet guy. Lemme go make sure he’s not smokin’ out back or somethin’ alright?”

 

“Um,” Billie looks like he wants to say something so Mike stops and raises his eyebrows, waiting.

 

Billie squints up at him, his mouth hanging open.

 

“Would you like to buy a vowel?” Mike asks, hiding a smile and Billie’s mouth clicks shut.

 

He shakes his head a few times and waves at Mike to forget it. Only, now he can’t. Now he’s curious.

 

“What?”

 

Billie shakes his head again, black hair flopping on his forehead, “Nothing. Never mind, it’s just…”

 

Oh, he wants to say something alright. Mike grins and sits down on the edge of the booth across from Billie, “I’m listening.”

 

The smaller man lets out a relieved little breath, a sad smile quirking at his lips, “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

 

“Try me.”

 

Billie bites his lip and stares at his hands for a few moments before fixing his gaze with Mike, expression stoic.

 

“Ok, I suppose now is as good a time as any… here goes,” Billie let’s out a breath, “I think…I think I’m a ghost.”

 

Mike frowns. He was so not expecting that.

 

“A ghost?” he repeats and doesn’t know whether to laugh or not. Billie looks too serious, “You think you’re a ghost?” he asks, his voice skeptic. This dude was way weirder than he thought.

 

“See, I told you you wouldn’t believe me.” Billie sounds crestfallen.

 

“Why…” Mike rakes a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to deal with someone who’s convinced they are a ghost, “What makes you think you’re dead?”

 

“I’m not dead.” Billie says confidently, “I’m in a coma.”

 

“A coma?”

 

“Yeah, I was in a car accident. Hit head on by an SUV, my crappy little Jetta didn’t stand a chance. Plus, the guy was drunk, so…” Billie trails off before his face lightens up, “Listen, if you don’t believe me you can go see for yourself. I’m in St. Mary’s hospital, room 402.”

 

Mike’s trying to process this, “Wait, so, if you’re a …a _ghost_ , then how come I can see you?”

 

The shorter man suddenly beams at him, “That’s the thing! I don’t know! You’re the only one.”

 

“Uh huh…okay, well listen Billie, I have to get back to work, so-”

 

Billie’s face falls and Mike feels like an ass for putting that look there, even if the guy has bat shit for brains.

 

“You’re not gonna look?” Billie hastily stands up and the chair he’s sitting in clatters backwards, falling to the floor. Explain _that_ ghost, Mike thinks. “You’re not even gonna look, are you? _Please_ , you’re the only one that can see me! You have to believe me, Mike.”

 

Billie follows him over to the bar and Mike turns around, stopping him, “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just a little hard to believe okay? Put yourself in my place. It sounds…nutty.” Billie’s face darkens and for a second Mike thinks he’s in danger from the latest escapee at the mental hospital. No, he thinks, that would have been on the news.

 

“I’m sorry, man, I just-” but Mike stops, his eyes are over Billie’s shoulder. “Did you pick that up?”

 

“Pick what up?” Billie turns around, trying to see what Mike sees.

 

“The chair, when you stood up you knocked it over. Did you pick it back up?” A shiver runs down Mike’s spine as he stares at the upright chair. It’s pushed under the table, just like all the other ones as if no one had pulled it out in the first place. But Mike knows what he saw.

 

When Billie turns back to face him he’s smiling, “Nope.”

 

“Yes, I _saw_ it. It fell over, are you messing with me? This some kind of game?”

 

“Mike,” Billie says carefully, “It didn’t fall over because I was never sitting in it.”

 

Mike’s wide eyes land on Billie’s, his mouth hanging open. There’s no way. This is a trick, it must be. Some sick joke. This guy is fucking with his head.

 

“I know…it’s confusing…” Billie quirks his mouth and shrugs, “You get used to it.”

 

“No, no, no.” Mike’s mumbling. He doesn’t like mind games, he had enough of _that_ with Sarah. “No, get out.”

 

The shorter man’s eyebrows furrow, “What?”

 

“Get out, okay? I don’t want you here. I don’t like being fucked with. Get. Out.”

 

Billie Joe scowls at him, his green eyes shining bright. “Make me.”

 

That’s it, Mike’s had it. Why can’t anybody take being told to leave today? He stands up tall, using his height advantage to intimidate Billie, but the guy doesn’t budge.

 

“I said get out!” He goes to give him a good hard shove in the chest… and promptly falls on his face.

 

Mike scrambles onto his back, his heart racing and his eyes open wide. Billie is standing over him, biting back a smile.

 

“Dude,” he laughs, “Told ya.”

 


	5. Stuck With Me

Mike took off from work early. He told Red he didn’t think he was feeling too hot after all, and this time it wasn’t that far from the truth.

 

He was going crazy. Breaking up with Sarah had left him feeling lonely and vulnerable. Naturally, his subconscious had created a solution for that. An imaginary friend.

 

Why his imaginary friend was in the form of a weird little guy claiming to be in a coma, he wasn’t sure.

 

“I’m not some kind of defense mechanism your head concocted up, Mike.”  The shorter man hurries to keep up beside his long strides, “You can’t keep ignoring me.”

 

“Watch me!” Mike grounds out and startles the woman passing him on the sidewalk.

 

Billie snickers next to him.

 

He didn’t really know where he was going. All he knew was that he was going crazy and people always said fresh air did you some good. Unfortunately, stalking down Main Street and yelling at his imaginary friend wasn’t helping as much as he thought.

 

“I’m telling you the truth, Mike. Go see for yourself, St. Mary’s hospital, room-”

 

Mike comes to a halt and turns to face Billie, “Why me? I just want to know, why the hell is this happening to me?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe you’re, y’know, one of those mediums.”

 

“No, I’m not! You want to know why I’m not? Because there’s no such thing as ghosts!”

 

People were giving Mike a wide berth as they passed him. Billie frowns as a man ushers his son away from the man screaming at what appears to be a hydrant and hisses at Mike, “Yeah? I kind of thought that once too, but that was before I woke up and realized nobody could _see_ me. Nobody could _hear_ me. Do you know what it’s like to be invisible, Mike? I screamed my lungs out on the street and not one person looked my way, not one person knew I was even _there._ Until you! I need you to help me, man.”

 

Mike remembers his dream at Billie’s words and frowns before yelling, “You don’t exist! Don’t tell me these things, you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

 

“No! I’m not! Stop saying I’m not real. I’m a person, Mike and I need your help, _please._ ”

 

Mike shakes his head. Damn, why was this happening to him. Billie wasn’t real. 

 

“Listen,” Mike sighs, frustrated, “Just- Go. _Away_.”

 

“Mike-” the shorter man’s voice cracks a little on his name, “Please.”

 

 “No.”

 

There’s a moment of the two looking at each other, emerald eyes pleading with stubborn sapphire.

 

“Fine.” Billie grits out, and then, he’s gone.

 

Mike stares at the empty sidewalk, dumbfounded. It takes him a moment to pick his jaw up and get his head back together.

 

He makes a beeline to the nearest payphone and dials the apartment, hoping Tré is home.

 

 

**

 

“Wow…That’s… interesting.” Tré’s staring at him from across the kitchen counter.

 

“Yeah, I know how it sounds…”

 

“And you’re sure this isn’t just a real guy you’re talking to?”

 

“He vanished right in front of me! I fell _through_ him.” Mike rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms until he sees spots. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why is this happening to me, Tré?” He realizes how pathetic he sounds, but none of that matters in the face of his best friend.

 

“Hey, buddy, if you want to see a psychiatrist, I mean, we can make it happen, I just-”

 

“No,” he groans, “No, I don’t want to go to a head shrink.”

 

Tré nods and watches him for a moment.

 

“What am I gonna do, Tré?”

 

His friend purses his lips, eyes dropping to the countertop between them. Mike can tell he doesn’t have an answer.

 

He drops his head onto his arms feeling hopeless. The apartment falls silent for a couple of minutes before Tré says rather tentatively, “You could visit his body.”

 

“What?” Mike peers up at Tré and for a second he thinks his friend is mocking him.

 

“Think about it, you go to the hospital, visit room whatever it was-”

 

“402.”

 

“-and when you see some old lady instead of this ghost guy, you’ll be fixed! It’s like…closure.”

 

“Closure.” Mike repeats, squinting somewhere over Tré’s shoulder, “That’s an idea.”

 

Tré nods at him, seeming happy to have given him help. Mike shakes his head, studying his friend, “You’re awesome, you know that?”

 

Tré leans back in his chair, pulling his arms behind his head, “Yeah, I totally am.” He says, smug, and Mike laughs.

 

“No, I mean, I come home and tell you I’m having a nervous breakdown, seeing crazy shit, things that aren’t there and you’re Mr. Supportive with answers. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Thank you.” He says the last part sincerely and Tré gets a weird look on his face before waving him off.

 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be a girl about it, Michelle.”

 

Mike smirks and reaches across the counter to shove him. Leave it to Tré to be so caring and so insulting in the same moment.

 

“So, you gonna take my advice?” his friend asks.

 

Mike shrugs, he could, but he doesn’t really want to go that far unless he has to, “Maybe if I keep seeing him. I told him to leave, and he did. Maybe he’s gone for good.”

 

“Maybe.” Tré nods, “I hope, anyway. Or I’d have to start looking for a new roommate.”

 

Mike smirks, “Yeah, right. You love me too much. Plus, no one else would put up with you.”

 

“Because apparently you’re the only one crazy enough to.”

 

“Hey!” he grins, pointing a finger at his friend, “Easy on the ‘c’ word.”

 

Tré waves him off, “Nah, you’ll be fine, man. Of everyone I know, you’re the one who has his shit together the most.” His roommate stands and grips his shoulder as he passes, “We’ll laugh about this later.” he says before Mike hears him drop on the couch and turn the TV on.

 

Mike tries to smile back, not feeling so sure.

 

**

 

A week later Mike is working at Red’s, feeling confident his sanity has returned. There has been no sign of creepy ghost guy or anything else out of the ordinary.

 

“Watch out.” Tré shoves Mike aside and pulls out a handful of shot glasses. They clink loudly in his friend’s hand.

 

“Hey, Tré, you ever see that girl again?”

 

His friend’s movements slow and Mike watches him, curiously.

 

“Uh… yeah, sure,” Tré busies himself with the liquor and shrugs, “I mean, no. But, whatever.”

 

Mike bites back a smile as he listens to Tré’s babble. He’s never heard his friend sound so uncertain when talking about a girl.

 

“Tré, you like this girl don’t you? Like, really like her?”

 

“What?” his friend scoffs, “ _Like_ her? Of course I don’t like her. Well, I mean, I obviously like her, she’s hot – who doesn’t like a hot girl? I, for one, do… like hot girls, so, naturally, I like her… but it’s not like I have some high school crush on her. C’mon, man, don’t be ridiculous.” He laughs a little hysterically before pulling himself together, “Hey, look – customers. Go do something about that.” Tré shoulders Mike away from him and hurries over to the guy’s at the end of the bar waiting for their shots.

 

Mike laughs loudly at his friend, amused to no end at this sudden fumbling, nervous version of Tré. Distractedly, he helps the couple that just landed themselves at the bar and stops Holly on her way back from serving the tables.

 

“You hear Tré’s in looooove?”

 

Holly’s eyes go round and she gasps, “Tré? Our Tré? Mr. Manwhore Tré?”

 

Laughing, Mike nods, “You know that girl that came in about two weeks ago, the one he claims flirted with him?”

 

“Please, nobody flirts with Tré… unless they’re spectacularly drunk.”

 

“Would you both shut up?” The man in question yells down the bar earning snickers from the people around.

 

“Oh my god, it’s true!” Holly laughs and fills up her tray with orders, “Who would of thought you were such a big softie?”

 

Mike grins as his friend sends Holly’s retreating form a death glare, “Yeah, well, you suck.”

 

“Ooh, careful Tré, your comebacks can really hurt a girl.” She calls back over her shoulder.

 

“Ya’ll quit yellin’ in my bar? Scare the customers away.”

 

“Yeah, Red, ‘cause when people go out to a bar they’re thinkin’ ‘nice quiet evening with their friends. Maybe a game of chess.’”

 

Red thwaps Tré on the back of the head as he makes his way around the bar, “Smartass… Hey Mikey, take the rest of the day off. I’ve got it from here, kid.”

 

Mike nods and pushes a tall glass of beer to his last customer as his eyes stray to Holly. Wiping his hands quickly, he makes his way over to the brunette, nervous energy suddenly filling his frame.

 

He’s been thinking about it lately, asking Holly out. She’s a down-to-Earth kind of girl and he knows he won’t get trampled on with her like he did with Sarah. Besides, he needs this. He’s the kind of guy that functions best while in a relationship, not moping around an apartment all by his lonesome.

 

Mike rubs at his stomach on his way over, hoping to quell the butterflies there. “Hey Holl’,”

 

“Oh, are you taking off Mike?” She tucks the now empty tray under her armpit and wipes her hand on her smock.

 

“Yeah… listen, I kind of wanted to ask you about something?” He fidgets and curses his nerves as the queasy feeling grows in his belly.

 

“You okay?” Holly asks, studying him closely, “You don’t look too hot.”

 

“No, I’m fine… I-” But suddenly it’s not just his nerves; suddenly it’s something much worse and he folds himself over as pain rips through his body.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut as a ringing pierces his ears. Mike feels himself collide with the ground before all sensations cease to exist.

 

The front hallway of a house he doesn’t recognize comes into view and an equally unfamiliar man is staring at him with the most terrible look he’s ever seen. Pain, grief, shock, betrayal and a few other he can’t name.

 

Mike feels different, he feels smaller somehow. Quickly, he realizes this is not his body and before he has much time to adjust to the situation he hears himself spitting angry words at the man in front of him, “Sorry I don’t measure up to your standards, but I thought that wouldn’t matter between us. I thought blood _meant_ something to you.”

 

He stands still, watching the man and somewhere deep down hoping he’ll change his mind. But instead the guy turns to the door and yanks it open; he can’t look Mike in the eyes anymore, “Get out, Billie Joe.”

 

Mike feels torn in two directions as a part of him latches on to the familiar name, wondering what it means and why it’s back. But, another part of him, the stronger part that’s not really him at all, feels his chest grow tight and his heart ache at the final words.

 

“I guess not.” He mutters and stares at the man, pleading with what little he has left for him to at least meet his eyes.

 

When he doesn’t Mike feels something terrible unleash in his belly and he stalks out the door and to the driveway where a rusted old red Jetta sits. Ripping the door open, Mike throws himself inside and starts the car in a hurry. Forgoing the seatbelt, he backs out without looking before peeling rubber down the street. He just wants to get as far away as he possibly can from that house.

 

A surge of emotions are tumbling inside his stomach, rising in his throat and bulging there. He feels the need to scream, to cry, to beat his fists against the dashboard, anything to let it out. But, above all he feels like he’s just lost something very vital and the grief alone is threatening to choke him.

 

His eyes tear as he flies down the main road and heads up the closest ramp to make it onto the thruway. The need to drive fast is overwhelming him.

 

At this hour it’s pretty much dead and he grits his teeth, pushing his foot down harder on the pedal. Mike feels the heart that doesn’t belong to him beat wildly in his chest and hears himself let out a wordless yell in the confines of the Jetta. The road goes by him in a blur of gray and he relishes in the feel of soaring over it. He inhales deeply and clenches his fists tighter around the steering wheel; watching as the road comes at him swift and rapid, disappearing behind his little Jetta.

 

He glances down at his speedometer and is shocked to find it at one-hundred and five miles per hour. The adrenaline washes off him like water and he steps down on the brake, his heart beat slowing with the car.

 

Mike feels himself grinning as he turns in his seat to get a look at the few cars he passed, also on the lookout for cops. Lucky for him, there don’t seem to be any around.

 

One of the cars behind him starts honking frantically and he frowns, turning around in time to see a big, black SUV headed straight for him. Gripping the steering wheel, Mike feels himself yank it left and a second later he hears the metal of his car scream and the passenger side fold in on itself. He feels his body forced from his seat and glass rip through his skin before colliding with something solid and unyielding.

 


	6. Rest

Mike comes to beneath the faces of his worried friends. His head aches and the world is spinning.

 

“Mike, oh thank God, Mike, can you hear me?”

 

He tries to sit up and almost instantly feels hands on his back, steadying him and helping.

 

“Is he okay?”

 

“Michael, can you hear me?”

 

He reaches for the back of his head and feels a large, tender bump there and hisses when his fingers graze it. Looking up at the swarming faces of his friends, he nods gently, croaking, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Holly and Tré help him stand and he watches as Red ushers a small crowd away, “What happened?”

 

“I, um, I’m sorry, just felt nauseous all of a sudden. Must’ve caught a bug? Maybe I’m coming down with something… It’s no big deal, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He makes his way to the front of the bar on unsteady feet and grabs his coat off the hanger, “Sorry for the scare, I got to go.”

 

He swings the door open and sighs when fresh air hits his face, clearing away the haze in his mind.

 

“Wait, Mike! Where are you going?” Tré appears next to him, his hands hovering like his friend is going to collapse again, “Shouldn’t we take you to the hospital? Or you can go lie down at _least_.”

 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it, Tré. Listen, I have to go, okay?” He shrugs into his coat and starts a brisk walk down the street, already feeling back to himself. His eyes are peeled for a cab.

 

But Tré isn’t easily convinced because he keeps pace with his friend, concern evident on his face, “Mike, you just passed out back there! Dropped dead in the middle of Red’s and shot back up like it was nothing. You’re not thinking clearly, you need to go lie down or something, man. You probably banged your head pretty damn hard, too. I know it’s thick, but c’mon.”

 

He waves his hand out as he sees a cab down the street and nods at Tré, not really listening, “I’m fine, man. Go back to Red’s.”

 

“Mike-”

 

“Really,” He turns and faces his friend, “I’m fine Tré. Was probably just dehydrated, but, I have something I need to do, alright? After that I’ll go home and get some rest and drink lots of fluids and whatever else, okay?”

 

The cab pulls up next to the sidewalk and Mike opens the backseat’s door.

 

Tré stops him, grabbing his forearm and huffs a few times before saying, “Fine. But, just call me when you get home okay? I want to make sure you really are _fine._ ”

 

He nods and his friend drops his arm. Mike offers the shorter man a smile before climbing into the cab.

 

“St. Mary’s hospital.” He tells the cabdriver and waves to Tré through the window before they drive off.

 

 

 

When he gets to the hospital, Mike wastes no time making his way through the building and jumping in the nearest elevator. He pushes for the fourth floor and the second the box cart starts ascending he feels nervous. He hasn’t really thought this through. That vision was pretty intense, felt unnervingly real and coming to the hospital is something Mike realizes he _needed_ to do.

 

He needs to find out if he’s really just losing his mind, or if something supernatural is actually going on around him. Unfortunately, Mike is now pretty certain it’s the latter. He’s almost positive he’s going to walk into room 402 and find a familiar face. Although, if he doesn’t that might make things worse. There will be no way to explain the dreams or the vision. However, if he does find Billie, then maybe he won’t have to go through this alone.

 

Mike’s legs feel weak and his hands shake at his sides. He plasters his palms against the side of the box cart to steady himself and drops his head between his shoulders, breathing carefully. This is a moment of truth.

 

The doors ding open to the clean white hallway of St. Mary’s fourth floor. Mike straightens his shoulders and takes a step into it.

 

Room 402 would be down the hall to his right. He walks slowly down that way, hands clenching and unclenching into nervous fists at his side. He passes other rooms with sleeping patients and crash carts outside every other door. When he spots room 402, Mike stops outside of it.

 

From where he’s standing he can see the blank television positioned up on the wall and two armchairs beneath it. He takes a deep breath and turns into the room, the bed and prone figure on it swiftly coming into view.

 

His heart hammers deafeningly loud in his ears as he stares down at the pale face of Billie Joe.

 

“Oh God,” he murmurs quietly and sits in the chair positioned next to the bed. He’s wearing a respirator, the plastic is clamped over his mouth and a tube winds out of it. Up close he can see the long, ragged scab that juts down the right side of Billie’s face. Mike glances down at the young man’s still arms and sees an assortment of diagonal cuts and scratches beginning to scar over a myriad of tattoos. The abrupt painful memory of being thrown through a car windshield flashes in Mike’s mind.

 

He looks back up at Billie’s face and notes the paleness of it, the gauntness in his cheeks and the dark, sunken look around his eyes. Gently, Mike picks up one bruised, limp hand in his and stares at it, “I’m sorry.” He hears himself saying, “I should have believed you.”

 

He cradles the cold hand between his own in an attempt to warm it and jumps when he hears a familiar voice reply, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Mike’s head whips up and he stares at Billie, ghost Billie, leaning against the doorframe, “I mean, it was a lot to dump on a person you just met.”

 

Mike stands, dropping Billie’s hand and pushing the chair he was sitting in backwards across the floor, “How’d you know I was here?”

 

“I didn’t. Since you told me to leave you alone I’ve stayed here at the hospital.”

 

“Oh…” Mike feels guilt creep into his system, remembering the fight he’d had with this man.

 

“Hey,” The ghost unfolds himself from his slumped posture against the doorframe and looks at Mike rather sincerely, “You don’t have to look so guilty, I told you, it’s all in the past. I shouldn’t have scared you like I did, should’ve… I don’t know what I should have done, but I handled it poorly.”

 

Cursing himself for not being able to screen his emotions better, Mike only nods at the apology. “So, why are you hanging out around here? Why not… around your friends or family or something?”

 

Billie shrugs, “I don’t know, I guess I don’t like watching them when they don’t know I’m there.” He shuffles and scratches at the back of his neck before continuing, “They talk about me most of the time. My parents… especially my mom. She’s really religious and she’s always praying and asking my stepfather to pray and my sisters and whoever else is there... They’re fed up with her now though, she’s pushing it too much. Doesn’t realize praying isn’t going to do a damn thing to wake me up.” He grounds out the last part and Mike can understand where he’s coming from, having lost all faith in the God he was raised to believe in as well.

 

“They’re always fighting now,” Billie says, “Every argument starts because of me and what happened to me and I hate it! This shouldn’t be ripping them apart, if anything it should be bringing them together. I can’t stand to watch them anymore.”

 

The room is quiet for a while and Mike glances down at Billie’s physical self. They both listen to the steady mechanical breathing the respirator is providing its patient.

 

“You can hang out at my place.” Mike finally says, breaking the silence and he looks back up at the ghost.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” He figures he owes Billie this, “I mean, waiting around here is probably depressing as all hell… I mean, it might be awkward if your there all the time… but you can drop by.” He feels like kicking himself for saying that, but he doesn’t want Billie to be haunting him 24/7. A man needs his privacy.

 

He seems to understand though and nods, grateful at the taller man.

 

“Well then,” Mike stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins at Billie, “I should get one of those Bluetooth thingies so I don’t look like a nut job when I talk to you.”

 

The shorter man laughs at that, his face lighting up in a way Mike thinks he may have needed. It’s true, he still isn’t one-hundred percent convinced that he’s not actually crazy, but how bad can it be, having Casper the friendly ghost around?

 


	7. I Was There

Mike watches Billie as the shorter man walks around his apartment, hands clasped behind his back and eyes moving over the furniture and what little décor the place has.

 

“So, this is your apartment.” The ghost makes his way over to the couch and gently sits down on it, “’s nice.”

 

Billie still has the large cut on his face, bruised and ugly. Now that Mike really looks, he can see the damage on the guy’s hands and arms as well. Even his hoodie is still stained with blood. Mike wonders if that will ever change, if his face will ever heal.

 

“Thanks.”

 

They sit across from each other in silence for a while. Mike stares at Billie and Billie avoids his gaze.

 

“You said you needed my help.”

 

Green eyes flick back over to him and Billie fidgets where he’s sitting, “Oh, yeah. I thought maybe you’d be able to fix me. Y’know, since you’re the only one who can see me and all. I thought maybe it meant something.”

 

Mike studies the guy’s face, “You don’t think that anymore.” It’s not a question, he knows he can’t fix Billie and the sadness in Billie’s face says he knows it now too.

 

The shorter man tries to smile, but it’s tight and painful looking, “No. I don’t think that anymore.”

 

Silence stretches between them again and Mike finds himself thinking about his dreams. He understands them now, where they came from. All of them were Billie. All of the pain and confusion he’d felt, the sorrow and abandonment, they were all Billie. Mike feels his heart clench at the memory of them and he’s debating on whether or not to tell the man across from him when the front door swings open.

 

“Tré!” Surprised, Mike abruptly stands up and his eyes swing to Billie. How is he going to explain this to his friend?

 

“Hey, you okay? You didn’t pass out again did you? Everyone at work is still really worried about you, man.”

 

“You passed out?” Billie Joe asks from his spot on the couch as Tré throws his keys down on the kitchen counter.

 

Tré turns to face him again and Mike stares at Billie, suddenly remembering his friend can’t see him.

 

“Yeah,” He says, answering both people’s questions, “I’m fine now.”

 

Tré stops behind the couch, his arms braced on the cushions behind Billie’s head, “Good. You really scared us back there.”

 

Everything feels a little bit chaotic as a thousand thoughts run through Mike’s mind. He feels awful for making his friends worry by running out on them like that and he feels like he should apologize and explain, but…

 

Mike’s eyes move from Tré to Billie and back, he imagines himself introducing the two. ‘Hey Tré, I’d like you to meet Billie Joe, that imaginary dude I was talking about last week. He’s a ghost and he’s real and he’s right here and I know you can’t see him but…’ Yeah, that won’t make him look loony.

 

He could take Tré to the hospital to prove… but Tré’s never seen Billie, he doesn’t know what he looks like, it wouldn’t prove anything. He could show him his name, on a file or something… he’d need to talk to Billie’s doctor to get that, and how does he explain that one… No, it’s too complicated to prove. But, if he doesn’t tell Tré about Billie then he’s lying to his best friend. And Billie, how must that make him feel – to just ignore him the moment Tré walks into the room.

 

Maybe he’s underestimating Tré. Maybe he’ll believe him. That’s what best friends are supposed to do, right? Mike frowns, this isn’t something even he believed when he saw it with his own eyes. How is he supposed to expect Tré to believe it too?

 

“Mike! Hello?”

 

Mike’s eyes snap back to Tré, “What?”

 

“You kind of zoned out there.”

 

“I did? Sorry.” Mike realizes a second too late that Billie had said that one, not Tré.

 

“What? Mike, are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, alright. Stop asking me that.” He snaps and rubs at his temples, feeling the oncoming of a headache.

 

“Jeez, sorry for caring. Next time I won’t bother.” Mike hears his friend mutter.

 

When he looks back up Tré is huffing angrily to himself, puttering around in the kitchen. Billie is still sitting on the couch, looking small and guilty. Hesitantly, he stands and shuffles toward the door, jerking one thumb toward it while his other hand fiddles with his hoodie zipper, “I’m gonna go. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

 

Mike just nods, his eyes flicking to Tré and Billie hurries to the door, closing it loudly behind him. In the kitchen, Tré makes no indication he heard. Mike knows he hasn’t.

 

**

 

Mike’s dreaming again. He’s Billie again, he recognizes the feel of the man’s skin where his should be.

 

The small part of Mike’s mind that knows who he really is and that this is just a dream battles the larger part that is completely Billie. It’s different this time, now that Mike understands. He doesn’t want to feel what this man feels, think what he thinks. It’s trespassing now, it’s wrong and Mike doesn’t want to invade on what should be only Billie’s private thoughts and feelings.

 

But the man’s emotions are so strong it’s hard for Mike to turn his back on them. So he succumbs as the familiar loneliness and dread envelopes him. Mike opens his eyes to a large crowded room.

 

It’s noisy and smoke-filled and Mike realizes with shock that this time he recognizes the place. Sitting in one of the booths along the back wall he takes in the pool table in front of him, people gathered around and watching a game in progress. Beyond that, after a few short steps down the room opens into a larger area filled with tables and more booths and a long bar covering the right side. This is Red’s.

 

He’s aimlessly people-watching from his spot in the dark, a familiar aching in his chest at the odd sense of being lonely amongst the thick, lively crowd of the bar.

 

Then, his eyes land on one of the bartenders bustling around behind the counter. The guy is lean and tall, high cheek bones and slender fingers with a head of short blond hair. It’s all too familiar to Mike and he feels himself flush under Billie’s scrutiny… of himself.

 

In the middle of his staring, the guy… Mike… himself, whatever, looks up and directly into his eyes. His heart lurches and in that moment he’s completely Billie.

 

 _Can he see me?_ Billie sits frozen, unsure what do to as the man across the bar seems to be looking straight at him. Then he watches as the bartender turns and talks to a stockier man with auburn hair, the blond man’s features hard and uneasy. Billie doesn’t like the way it looks at all. Abruptly, he stands and makes his way out the back door, heart pounding away in his chest.

 

 _Why could he see me?_ Mike listens to the chaotic, fearful stream of thoughts in Billie’s head, one of which include Mike being a Reaper. For a while he listens as Billie gets stuck on that thought. He’s positive his soul is overdue and some higher being was sent down to collect, taking on the form of some hot guy _totally_ his type so he would be easily lured. Mike squirms at this train of thought, he had no idea Billie felt that way about him.

 

Eventually, Billie decides the Reaper-Mike idea is absurd. Eventually, Billie even convinces himself that he was seeing things, getting his hopes up. And finally, Billie decides to go back to the bar tomorrow morning, just to be sure.

 

When Mike wakes from his dream one thought clouds his mind for the remainder of the day: _Billie thinks I’m hot._

 


	8. Do Da Da

_Billie thinks I’m hot._

 

Mike tilts his face this way and that as he studies his reflection in the mirror. _Billie thinks I’m_ hot.

 

He squints and purses his lips a little, trying to look sexy. It fails miserably and he frowns at the face above his sink, quirking an eyebrow at it. _Billie thinks_ I’m _hot?_

Shrugging, Mike pulls out his toothbrush, done looking at himself in the mirror. His mind wanders as he squeezes _Colgate_ onto the bristles. _Do I think_ he’s _hot?_

He doesn’t know. He never really thought about it to be honest. After the thing with Sarah he wasn’t looking in anybody’s direction much. Then, there was Holly, who he’s not completely sure he wants to try to ask out again. Since the first try was such a mess.

 

And Billie… to be fair when he first saw Billie all he got was creepy stalker vibes. And the guy really does look like he just got mugged… or more accurately, thrown through a windshield. Was he supposed to find that _I just got my ass kicked_ look attractive?

 

Mike shoves his toothbrush in his mouth, brushing absent-mindedly. He does like the guy. He’s nice and kind of funny, maybe not in the stand up comedian way, but in a quiet, not obvious sort of way.

 

Maybe if he would stop having all these stupid dreams and visions he would be able to step back and take a better look at the guy. But it’s hard since he’s been in Billie’s shoes. He’s seen and heard and felt some very intimate moments in the man’s life. How is he supposed to forget that?

 

Mike knows you can’t necessarily judge a man by the shit that goes through his head; that stuff is personal and sometimes impossible to control. He shouldn’t be privy to Billie’s thoughts. He should get to know the guy through the thoughts he does decide to voice and through his actions.

 

The whole thing is unfair and Mike has no idea how it’s affecting the way he feels about Billie.

 

Frustrated, Mike spits the minty foam from his mouth with a bit more force than necessary and chucks his toothbrush back into the medicine cabinet. He wipes his mouth on his wrist and flicks off the bathroom light, making his way through the living room and grabbing all the things he needs for work.

 

He doesn’t even notice Tré sitting on the couch until the man speaks up, “Mike.”

 

Mike jumps on his way to the door, “Jesus!” He’s got his keys in his hand and they all clank against his chest when he throws his fist over his heart, “Tré, fuck you scared me.”

 

His friend stands up from where he was seated, leveling Mike with an important kind of look, “You’ve been acting a little strange recently and it’s worrying me.” He says the words carefully and Mike can tell they’ve been practiced. It makes him bristle, “First, this thing with Sarah and then your hallucinations… and now-”

 

“My thing with Sarah?” Mike repeats, “She cheated on me Tré. I’m sorry that makes _me_ a bad friend or whatever-”

 

“I didn’t say that.”   
  
”No?” Mike gestures at Tré with his cigarettes, “What is this you’re giving me, this little talk. It looks like you’re ready to lecture me on something, man, and I don’t need it.” He knows he’s jumping down Tré’s throat with hardly any reason to, but he suddenly feels defensive. His ‘hallucinations’ have been mentioned and it isn’t something he wants to try to explain to his friend right now. Maybe not ever.

 

“Mike, c’mon. Don’t you hear yourself? This isn’t you.”

 

“What does that mean? I’m not allowed to act differently. I’m not allowed to have problems. To breakdown once in a while? I accept you, Tré, with all _your_ character defaults, and there is a long list – but I’m not allowed to mess up?” _That was low…_

“I’m just trying to help! Why won’t you let me help?”  
  
”Why do you think I need help?”

 

Tré throws his face in his hands and lets out an aggravated noise.

 

Mike sighs and shoves his cigarettes into his pocket, “I have to go.”

 

“Wait.”

 

“What?” He’s got the door held open.

 

“Want to come back to Red’s tonight, after closing, have a few drinks. Holly and Jason will be there. Ronnie too I think.”

 

Sounds like an intervention. Mike wonders if Tré has told them about his ‘hallucinations’. God, he hopes not… “I can’t, sorry.” He shuts the door behind him.

 

 

“Hey.”

 

“Jesus!” Mike jerks at the sudden voice and his foot just about misses the next stair. He skids down the last three on his heels instead, barely keeping himself from landing on his ass.

 

“Sorry!”

 

“People need to stop sneaking up on me today.” Mike huffs and picks up his keys from where he’d dropped them. When he straightens he finds Billie standing a handful of steps below him.

 

Unsurprisingly, Billie still looks the same, but Mike finds himself giving Billie a once over now that he knows the other man has possible feelings for him. Sure, if he ignored the ratty, bloody clothes and the cuts and bruises. If his hair wasn’t so mussed and dirty looking. He tries to overlook those things and instead looks at Billie’s eyes. They’re a round, bright mossy green. And he looks at Billie’s lips, which are a kind of pouty that suits him well. And his neck, which is stretched up to look at Mike at the moment, pale and slender. His shoulders are kind of small and narrow, leading down to a flat chest and stomach before tapering to lithe hips. His hips-

 

Billie clears his throat and Mike swallows, choking to say, “Hi.”

 

A frown creases the shorter man’s forehead and Mike knows he’s been caught.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” He says too quickly, avoiding those green eyes and he skirts around Billie on the staircase.

 

“Something’s definitely wrong.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Billie plants himself in front of Mike when they hit the ground floor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He lifts his eyes over Billie’s head, staring at a dirty smudge on the far wall.

 

“You won’t look at me.”

 

Mike does then, his eyes flicking back down and he watches as Billie bites his lip, “Are you and your roommate okay?”

 

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

 

He yanks his gaze off Billie’s mouth, “What? No. I mean, well, we’ve been arguing… he’s just worried about me.”

 

“He has reason to be.” Billie sighs, “I’m really screwing things up for you aren’t I?”

 

“No.” Again, Mike spits out the word so quickly even _he_ can hear the lie in it, “I mean… It’ll just take some getting used to.” He amends, hoping the implication is heard.

 

Billie smiles a little crookedly at that, an odd look in his eyes, something soft and hopeful.

 

Remembering his dream, Mike clears his throat and steps around Billie, mumbling, “I’m gonna be late for work.”

 

 

 

Billie shows up to Red’s a few hours later, the bell above the door chiming and dirty Chucks squeaking against the floors. Mike grins and nods in his direction while he’s cleaning glasses behind the counter. It’s actually pretty cool, knowing he’s the only one who can appreciate Billie’s loud entrance.

 

**

 

Mike manages to avoid Tré as they swap places at Red’s, practically sprinting out of the bar with his tail between his legs. He’s not ready to face Tré; he knows he owes him an apology.

 

Billie had left an hour ago and Mike had spent what was left of his shift wondering just what exactly the ghost did to kill time. Then he thought about what _he_ would do if he was in Billie’s position. He supposed it might be interesting to watch people when they were by themselves, to see how different they acted compared to when they were around others. But the idea made him cringe a little, feeling like a peeping Tom.

 

He kind of hopes Billie never thought about spying on others, or at least if he did, that he never acted on it.

 

However, when Mike gets home and makes his way into his bedroom, his whole hopeful theory evaporates at the sight of Billie sitting on his bed.

 

“Billie.” He says a little dumbfounded, “What are you doing here? In my room?” He looks around the place real quick, checking to see what stuff he left laying out and how much of a mess there is on the floor. It could be could be cleaner…  
  
Billie looks sheepish, “Sorry, I wasn’t snooping, I swear. The bar was starting to get crowded and I felt like I needed to get out of there. I would have just stayed out on the couch but your roommate was here. Felt weird, standing in the same room with a guy I hardly know, talk about awkward silences.” He quirks a little smile at his own joke and Mike can’t help but think, _cute._

 “Oh,” He says and shuffles over to a pile of dirty clothes on his floor, kicking it into his closet behind him, “Well, Tré’s gone now, the couch is free.”

 

As Billie nods and walks back out into the living room, Mike grabs at some more clothes littering the floor, a pair of jeans and some socks on his bed and shoves them into the closet as well, closing the doors.

 

When he goes back out Billie is perched lightly on the end of the coffee table. He gestures to Mike’s bedroom doorway, “So, um, I saw you have a bass. You play?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Not so much anymore, but yeah.”

 

He watches Billie make fists with his hands, “I used to play the guitar, before…” The ghost looks up at him, his face sad and regretful, “It was my fault.”

 

Mike’s brows furrow, “What?”

 

“The accident. It was my fault.”

 

“I thought you said it was a drunk driver?” He walks to the kitchen, turning his back on Billie to occupy himself with the coffee maker, not that he’s thirsty but because he knows his face is too easy to read. He knows why Billie blames himself. Mike remembers the accident, he lived it too after all.

 

“It was. But,” He pauses and Mike sneaks a look. Billie’s head is tilted down, his hand rubbing over his eyes, “I was so angry,” he mumbles and Mike’s not sure if he was meant to hear it.

 

“I was careless. If I’d been paying better attention I could have gotten out of the way.”

 

Abandoning the coffee, Mike walks over and sits himself on the couch in front of the shorter man. He doesn’t know how to console Billie, he doesn’t have the words and he can’t even touch him. Instead, Mike scoots forward a bit so his knees meet Billie’s over the gap between the table and the couch. _I’m sorry._

Billie looks up and gives a small smile. _Thank you._

Mike returns the smile and for once the silence that falls between them isn’t so bad.

 

Eventually, they start talking again. The conversation turns back to music and Mike finds they have similar taste. They spend almost an hour just naming underground bands they find awesome and who they’d like to see in concert, or have. They talk about books they hated in High School and what commercials piss them off. They talk about stupid random shit and touch on a few controversial topics. Mike’s glad to learn they agree on most of the important stuff.

 

Before he knows it, it’s black outside his window and Billie had just said something Mike couldn’t help but laugh at and when he turns his head he catches Tré standing in the open doorway to their apartment.

 

He’s looking at Mike like he’s lost every last one of his marbles and Mike swallows down the laugh, realizing what he must look like: Sitting in a dark apartment, TV off, staring at seemingly nothing and laughing like he would if he was out with his friends.

 

Which is where Tré wanted him to be tonight.

 

“Tré,” He coughs, standing and flicking his gaze from Billie to his best friend, mouth working for an explanation. Until he thinks, _fuck it,_ he knows he’s a shitty liar, so he gestures to the coffee table and says, “Have you met Billie?”  

 


	9. Basket Case

“Mike…” Tré tries but doesn’t seem to know what to say, “What…who?”

 

Shifting, Mike waves his hand in Billie’s direction and pauses, ready to say he was just kidding. Instead he says, “Billie. Do you remember-”

 

Tré cuts him off, his words clipped, “Do I remember Billie? Coma-guy-Billie? Imaginary-Friend-Billie? Mike’s-having-a-nervous-breakdown-Billie? Yeah. I vaguely recall him.”

 

“Erm…”

 

“Mike, what is going on? I thought you were over that? I thought you were fine again.” Tré’s face is pained.

 

“I know. I was. But, Tré… he’s _real_.”

 

Tré groans before Mike can finish talking, muttering, “Oh god, here we go again.”

 

“No! I’m not crazy. Billie?” He turns to the ghost, pleading, “Can you help me out here?”

 

Billie stands, his gaze flicking to Tré and Mike and back, “Um, I don’t know. What should I do?”

 

Shrugging, Mike says, “I don’t know. Go Patrick Swayze on his ass.”

 

Billie takes a deep breath and nods as he goes to stand in front of Tré. Tentatively, he waves a hand over Tré’s face.

 

“Mike?” Tré says, looking straight through Billie, “What-”

 

“Ssh, he’s trying it.”

 

“Who’s trying what?”

 

“Ssh!”

 

Tré huffs as Billie stares into his eyes, “C’mon…. c’mon… see me.”

 

“Maybe you should try something physical. Like slapping him.”

 

“What?” Both Tré questions angrily and Billie asks confused.

 

Mike just shrugs.

 

He watches as Billie slowly puts his arm through the middle of Tré’s chest, wiggling it around and looking for a reaction. After a few more minutes of staring, Billie’s shoulders slump, and he retracts his arm, “I don’t know. I don’t know how this works, I don’t know why you’re the only one who can see me. I’m sorry, Mike.”

 

“Well, wait. What if we tried like a ouiji board or something.” He needed Tré to see. He needed his friend to understand he wasn’t crazy, and that he’d had a good excuse for acting so strangely to him. Plus, he kind of wanted to introduce the two; Billie was fastly becoming a close friend. 

 

“A ouiji board? I’m not dead, Mike.”

 

“No, but you’re a spirit sort of, right?”

 

“God, you really believe this don’t you.” Tré interrupts.

 

“Because it’s real, Tré!” Mike stares at his roommate helplessly, “I just... I don’t know how to make you see.”

 

Tré gives him a searching look, probably judging his sanity. Mike ignores the look and tries to focus, “I think I have one too, Ronnie gave it to me as a practical joke.”

 

Jogging to his bedroom, Mike rips open the closet door and pulls clothes and boxes out of the way until his hands land on the cheap, dusty ouiji board game his friend had given him.

 

“Here,” Mike clears their make-shift coffee table and opens the box, pulling out the board and setting it up.

 

Once everything’s in place he looks up. Billie is staring at the game, nervously yanking the zipper on his hoodie up and down. Tré has his hands folded behind his head, elbows pointed at the ceiling and a lost look on his face.

 

“Guys,” Mike reasons, desperate for this to work, “Just… trust me?”

 

His eyes are pleading and finally Billie nods, abandoning his zipper and rolling up his sleeves, revealing glass slashed tattoos. He takes a seat across from Mike in front of the coffee table, “Okay.”

 

Mike looks to Tré next, “Tré. Please?”

 

Tré sighs and shrugs, “Alright. Fine. But I’m gonna need a drink.” He drops his keys on the kitchen counter before grabbing a beer from the fridge and resuming his spot by the door, “Go for it.” He says and pops the top of his beer.

 

Mike turns back to the board, his pulse thudding and glances up at Billie before placing his fingers on the planchette. He pauses, feeling silly for a moment before asking, “Billie, are you here?”

 

Billie takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter before he puts his fingers on the device above Mike’s. It doesn’t move and Mike feels his heart drop, but refuses to be discouraged, “Maybe a different question.” He hears Tré sigh behind him, “Um, Billie, are you a ghost?”

 

Mike holds his breath as Billie tries to move the planchette, but again, it doesn’t budge.

 

After a few minutes Billie drops his hands from the board, “Sorry, Mike.”

 

Defeated, Mike lets go too, “Its okay. You tried.”

 

“Mike,” Tré sits next to him on the couch and Mike can’t look at him. He doesn’t want to hear anything Tré has to say right now, “Don’t worry, man. If you believe he’s there, then I do too.”

 

“Shut up, Tré.”

 

“No, really. C’mon, I believe you. Billie?” he suddenly says, directing his voice to the room. “Hey there, how’s it going?” Tré says and Mike feels anger coil in his gut. Tré stands up and reaches out his arm like he’s shaking someone’s hand, “It’s nice to meet you too. What’s that? Oh thanks, this shirt is actually new.”

 

Mike surges to his feet, “Enough!” he smacks Tré’s hand out of the air, ready to tear him a new one when he hears Billie’s shout of excitement from the ground.

 

Both Mike and Tré’s gaze is drawn to the ouiji board as the pointer slowly slides its way up until the word ‘yes’ sits in its center.

 

“Holy shit.” Tré breathes and his beer falls from his hand, clanking against the corner of the coffee table and landing on the ground, liquid spilling into the carpet.

 

Mike smiles as Billie drags the pointer down to the letter ‘B’ then follows with ‘i-l-l-i-e’.

 

When the ghost finishes, Tré is sitting on the couch, mouth hanging open and eyes glued to the board. Finally he says, “I-E. Weird. That’s a girl’s name.”

 

Billie drops his hands from the planchette, crossing them over his chest and looking peeved.

 

“I believe an ‘I told you so’ is in order here.” Mike says and Tré finally lifts his eyes to look at his roommate.

 

“Yeah, shit. Who would have thought? Ghost in my apartment.” Tré finally manages to look sheepish, “Sorry, Mike.”

 

Mike waves it off, just glad his idea worked.

 

“So,” Tré says, looking uneasy, “He’s here right now? …Where is he exactly?”

 

“Right in front of you.”

 

“Oh,” Tré focuses somewhere in front of him, “What does he look like?”

 

Mike sees Billie grin at the question and answers Tré, his line of sight directed at the ghost, “Green eyes, black hair. Short, like you. Kinda cute.”

 

Tré’s eyebrows go up and Mike watches Billie’s cheeks flush red, “Woah, okay, Demi. Want me to leave you two alone?”

 

Mike can feel his own blush now and he laughs Tré’s comment off, hoping Billie doesn’t notice. Of course, Tré sees his embarrassment and stands back up, proclaiming that he’s done for the night and quickly shuts himself in his bedroom.

 

Its just him and Billie again and Mike struggles to find something to say before it gets too awkward, “Good thing I owned a ouiji board.” Mike groans inwardly at himself, knowing he sounds like an idiot.

 

“Yeah,” Billie stands up from his seat on the carpet and falters for a moment, almost losing his balance. Mike is about to ask if he’s okay when he sees Billie’s whole body flicker-shift like an old movie reel.

 

“Woah,” he stares at the ghost in his apartment, like he expects Billie to do that again, “What was that?”

 

Billie looks up at him, his eyes wide and fearful, “I don’t know.”

 


	10. Don't Leave Me

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Billie holds still and looks around himself, like he’s afraid it might happen again. It doesn’t. “Yeah, I think I am. Shit, that didn’t feel good though,”

 

“What do you think it was?” Mike asks and the ghost glances at him before his eyes slide away. He tries to get a read on Billie but the guy just shakes his head, waving him off.

 

“I think I should go.”

 

“Wait,”

 

“No, it’s late. You don’t want me hanging around here while you’re sleeping. Right? Too weird. I should go.”

 

Mike frowns, wishing he could help somehow, but relents, “Okay.”

 

Billie makes his way to the door, opening it and giving Mike a cautious smile, “See you tomorrow?”

 

Smiling back, Mike nods, “Count on it.”

 

 

**

 

After Billie’s ‘flicker incident’, as Mike coins it, he keeps a close eye on the ghost. The next few days proceed rather normal, or as normal as life with Casper can be. Mike would go to work, Billie would shadow him and Tré would act paranoid, constantly asking if the ghost was around him.

 

Mike and Billie would hang around the apartment, watching old TV shows and talking about nothing in particular. Tré would come home and walk a big circle around Mike to get to his bedroom. Eventually, Mike started having fun with Tré, yelling at him the moment he would sit down, “Don’t sit on Billie!” Then they’d both laugh at Tré’s horrified expression and Tré would stalk from the room, “That’s so not funny, Mike.”

 

But Billie seemed fine, no more flickers of any sort and soon Mike forgot about the whole thing.

 

“No, the whole time she thought I was talking about her, it was awful. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!” Billie yells at Mike, but he’s laughing too.

 

Mike is sitting sprawled on his bedroom floor, bass in his hands and uncontrollable laughter spilling from his mouth. Billie’s trying to bite back his own laughs, shaking his head and sitting cross-legged on Mike’s bed, “Seriously, she was terrible. I could have never gone out with a girl who thought The Buzzcocks was a euphemism for my-”

 

Mike bursts out laughing again and Billie slaps a palm over his face, “Never mind!”

 

It takes Mike a while to sober, but then he asks, “So, she obviously didn’t know about your preference in men?”

 

“Wow.” Billie says and sits back, “Just like that you assume I’m gay.”

 

“Oh,” Mike catches himself, “Uh, I mean… well-”

 

A coy little smile tugs at Billie’s lips, “No, it’s okay. I am. I just didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

 

“You’re not!” Mike rushes to say and feels incredibly rude, blurting it out like that.

 

Billie watches him and Mike avoids his gaze, fiddling with the strings on his bass before saying, “I am too. Kind of.”

 

“Kind of?” Billie asks.

 

“Well, I had a girlfriend.” Mike thinks back to Sarah for a moment before he quickly erases her from his thoughts, “Not important.”

 

“Looks important.” Billie’s looking at him carefully and once again Mike berates himself for not being a better liar.

 

Not wanting it to dwell on his calamity of a love life, Mike quickly directs the conversation away from himself, “Have you ever been in a relationship?”

 

“Uhh, not really. Had some crushes, some flings, but…” the ghost shifts uneasily, scratching the back of his neck.

 

“What?” Mike pushes.

 

“Well, I never really let myself get involved with anyone. My…brother, he didn’t exactly approve of what I was.” Mike watches as Billie’s posture becomes protective, arms crossing tightly over his chest, “I had brought a friend home, _male_ friend,” Billie clarifies, “Al had gotten so angry. He pulled me aside just to yell at me. Told me I would go to Hell if I didn’t ‘fix’ myself.” Billie shakes his head, “He tried to put me in one of those conversion programs at the church. When I refused he said… he said that I was dead to him.” He sighs, deflating as he continues, “I tried to make him see, to make him understand that I was still the same person, the same _brother_ he knew. I drove to his house and tried to talk to him. But we just ended up fighting. He told me he wanted nothing to do with me. He told me to get out of his house.”

 

 _“Get out, Billie Joe.”_ The angry words echo through Mike’s head as he remembers.

 

 _“Sorry I don’t measure up to your standards, but I thought that wouldn’t matter between us. I thought blood_ meant _something to you.”_

_He stands still, watching the man and somewhere deep down hoping he’ll change his mind. But instead the guy turns to the door and yanks it open; he can’t look Billie in the eyes anymore, “Get out, Billie Joe.”_

_His chest grows tight and his heart aches at the final words._

_“I guess not.” He mutters and stares at the man, pleading with what little he has left for him to at least meet his eyes._

_When he doesn’t Billie feels something terrible unleash in his belly and he stalks out the door and to the driveway where a rusted old red Jetta sits._

“I was so angry,” Billie’s still talking, but Mike interrupts.

 

“That’s why you got in your accident.”

 

“What?”

 

“You left. You were so broken up by your brother’s betrayal that you forgot to put your seatbelt on. You were speeding on the thruway. By the time you looked back at the road it was too late.” Mike’s eyes are unfocused and he’s saying these things as he sees them happening again.

 

“How did you know that?” Billie asks quietly.

 

When Mike looks back at him there’s suspicion written all through the ghost’s face.

 

“What?” he tries to look innocent for a moment, pretending it had been a guess.

 

“How did you know that?” Billie repeats and Mike knows he’s caught.

 

“Billie,”

 

“How could you have known that?” Billie shouts and stands, looking like he’s ready to bolt or disappear or do whatever he does.

 

“Wait, Billie, please,” Mike stands too, his hands up in surrender, “I don’t know how I do. I just saw it. I don’t know why, but, I’m getting these… these _visions_ of you, okay?”

 

“Visions? Of me?”

 

“Look, we don’t know why I can see you. And I don’t know why I relived your crash, or the night you came into the bar, but,”

 

“The night I…” Billie’s mouth snaps shut and Mike can see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

 

“Billie, please… I don’t know why this shit’s happening, but I’m not a fucking reaper or anything. Scout’s honor.” Mike tries a smile and crosses his fingers across his chest.

 

Billie just stares at him, “Reaper, Mike?”

 

“Yeah, a totally hot one, just your type.” He grins, hoping to make light of everything, hoping for Billie to smile in return. The reaction he gets is quite different.

 

Billie’s eyes widen, complete betrayal in them. He looks positively _livid_ and Mike’s face falls. He’s never seen Billie look that way before.

 

The smaller man looks like he’s ready to say something, hands clenched into fists, but before he does his face suddenly turns pained.

 

“Billie?”

 

The ghost drops to his knees, his arms wrapping around his midsection and he lets out a strangled sort of noise.

 

“Billie?” Alarmed, Mike drops to the floor too, in front of the ghost and his hands hover, wishing he could hold onto the man’s shoulders, try to steady him.

 

The ghost’s head is down and Mike stares in horror as he realizes he can see his floor through Billie’s form. The shorter man yells out as his body begins to flicker and Mike tries to grab him. His hands fall right through and Mike watches helplessly as Billie fades.

 

“Fuck, c’mon Bill, fight it!” he yells and doesn’t know what else to do.

 

“Mike,” Billie chokes out and groans as his body flickers again. He raises his head to look at Mike and Mike can barely make him out, just a trace of a person kneeling on his bedroom floor.

 

He hears Billie’s anguished scream fade and echo around his room the same time his body fully flickers out of sight.

 

Mike’s arms are stretched out in front of him in the place where Billie once was. His mouth works around a dry tongue, eyes prickle-blurring with tears as he stares, praying Billie will come back.

 

**

 

Mike’s running out the door when he collides into Tré.

 

“Woah, hey!” Tré latches on to Mike to keep himself from falling, “What the heck-”

 

“No time Tré, let go. I have to get to Billie.”

 

“Wait, Mike!”

 

Mike jogs down the hallway and makes quick work of jumping down the stairs. He’s outside the apartment complex and climbing into his truck when Tré shows up behind him.

 

“Mike! Hold on, I’m coming with you.”

 

His friend gets into the passenger seat and Mike revs the engine, pulling out and driving in the direction of St. Mary’s hospital.

 

“What happened to him?” Tré asks as he buckles himself in, dread in his voice.

 

Mike just tightens his knuckles on the steering wheel and presses a little harder on the gas pedal.

 

Tré swallows and faces the road, “Okay then.”

 


	11. Restless Heart Syndrome

They’re halfway to the hospital when a familiar pain envelops Mike.

 

“Shit,” A flash of panic strikes him and he flips his right blinker on, vision blurring as he turns to check for cars in his blind spot.

 

“Mike?” Tré’s voice is pitched.

 

“Grab the wheel,” Mike gasps and lets go of it, holding his stomach, “Pull us over.”

 

“ _Fuck._ ”

 

He feels the car jerk as Tré grabs it and swerve to the side of the road. Cars are honking and Tré yells at him, “Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!”

 

He’s not sure if his foot actually connected with the brake pedal, because he’s somewhere else now. He’s Billie now.

 

He feels like he’s drowning as a tube is snaked from his throat. His lungs compress and ache for air and finally the thing is pulled out and Mike hacks as he tries to breathe.

 

His throat is arid and swollen. His eyes burn and the room swings dimly in front of him. His body feels weak and broken. Mike thinks if he had any strength left in him, or food in his stomach, he’d vomit right now.

 

People are swarming around him, messing around with machines and tubes. But Mike pays little attention to it as he struggles to breathe and swallow.

 

Hands are on him, pulling him up and supporting his back. Mike finally manages to pull in air through short, hitched breaths. It should fill his lungs with relief but it feels like his throat is half closed and he can’t get the air he so desperately wants.

 

Someone is talking and it sounds like it’s directed at him. Mike tries to focus, tries to calm his fluttering heart; tries to ease the tight pain in his chest. The voice is deep, a male voice.

 

Breathing is slowly, but thankfully, becoming easier and his senses begin to clear.

 

“Billie Joe,” he hears, but its murky and thick sounding, like the person is talking to him underwater, “Billie Joe can you hear me?” That time it sounds a little clearer.

 

“Nod if you can hear me, Billie Joe.”

 

He hears the man, and Mike tries to make himself nod, but his head is heavy where it lays and he doesn’t even think it moves.

 

“Billie if you can hear me, just give me a nod.”

 

He tries again and his neck feels rigid and hard like it’s made of cement.

 

“Very good.” The man praises and Mike figures he must have done it.

 

His eyes are pried open by gloved fingers and drops fall into them. They burn and the gloved fingers press his eyelids closed.

 

“We’re just giving you some eye drops.”

 

The people bustle around him for a while longer and Mike sluggishly blinks his eyes a few times, they still feel dry.

 

He shuts them instead, it feels better that way. The man is talking to him again but Mike ignores him. As he lays there, his chest still rattling weakly to pull in air, Mike listens to the sounds around him fade as he drifts into sleep.

 

 

“Mike! Jesus, Mike, c’mon, wake up, man.”

 

His truck comes back into view and Mike realizes he’s still sitting in the driver’s seat, but they’re safely pulled over on the side of the road. The engine is still idling.

 

“Oh sweet Jesus, there you are.”

 

Tré’s hands are on him and Mike takes a moment to breath, relishing the feel of deep, full breaths.

 

“Mike, talk to me man.” Tré lets go of him, “What the fuck was that?”

 

His truck is crooked, Mike notices, his right wheel mounting the curb. Tré sits a little higher than him.

 

“Billie’s awake.” He says and Tré’s eyebrows rise.

 

“What?”

 

“He’s awake. I was there.”

 

“What, Mike what are you talking about? He’s awake?”

 

Mike nods, weary, “I was just there.”

 

“You… just now? You were there just _now?_ ” Tré sits back in his seat, his hand covering his eyes, “What the hell is happening to my life.” He mutters to himself.

 

“I have visions… of Billie. Sometimes.” Mike explains.

 

Tré faces him, his lips pursed and he shrugs, “Yeah. Of course. Of course you do.” They sit in silence for a while before Tré says, “So, are you going to go see him?”

 

Mike reaches forward and puts the truck into gear, “No.”

 

“Hey, maybe I should drive.”

 

“I’m fine, Tré.” Mike clips.

 

He pulls back onto the road, making an illegal U-turn to head back home. The air is tense and Mike knows Tré must have a billion questions but he doesn’t say anything.

 

They’re silent the whole ride home and it’s not until their apartment door is shut behind them Tré finally says, “I don’t get it.”

 

Mike ignores him and sits on the couch.

 

“Why didn’t you want to go see him?”

 

He flips on the TV, volume quiet, and channel surfs.

 

Tré sits next to him, “Mike, c’mon, man. You were practically in love with the guy. You think I didn’t see it, but I did Mikey. He makes you really happy. So why not be there when he wakes up? Why not-”

 

“He doesn’t remember me.” Mike cuts him off. He flicks the TV off too and stands, “I was in his head, Tré. And there’s no memory of me.” He makes his way to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

 

**

Billie woke up four days ago. It’s already been on the news, in the paper.

_‘Coma Victim’s Mom Christens Wakeup A Miracle’_

Mike sits in his room and stares at the spot where Billie disappeared. He misses him. Deeply and intensely, he misses him.

He had put his bass away again, no desire to play it. He had gone back to sulking around the apartment, listening to bad music and retreating to his room whenever he could.

Tré tries to reason with Mike despite the latter doing his best to shut the man out.

He’s standing in Mike’s bedroom doorway while Mike lies in bed. “You guys can start over. If he was as interested in you then he’ll still be as interested in you now, Mike. _Mike,_ don’t _do_ this to yourself.”

Mike ignores him.

“Maybe he remembers you now. It’s been a few days, maybe his memory restored itself.”

Mike just pulls his comforter over his head.

“Mike. _Mike._ ”

Eventually, Tré leaves him alone.

A month after Billie woke up, Tré starts bringing his new girlfriend back to the apartment. Her name is Amanda and together she and Tré made a sickeningly sweet couple.

Mike finds himself spending more time at Red’s than at the apartment.

Two months after Billie woke up, Mike asks out Holly. He knows somewhere deep in his heart he’s only using her to get over Billie. They go on one date and it ends disastrously.

Instead of kissing goodnight, Holly tells him they should just stay friends. He agrees and drives back home, collapsing on his bed, the sounds of Amanda and Tré having sex travel through his bedroom wall.

**

Almost four months after Billie woke up, Mike has a dream about him. Not one of his, I-am-Billie vision dreams, but an everyday, normal dream about him.

He’s shopping at the grocery store with his dad, who he hasn’t seen since he was six, and talking about baseball when he spots Billie at the check out line.

Mike calls his name and Billie doesn’t answer, just walks out of the store. When Mike runs out and tries to chase him down Billie is nowhere to be found. But there is a hospital bed sitting in the middle of the street, with a prone figure lying nestled in the white sheets.

When Mike steps closer he sees himself lying in the bed. His blond hair is falling out and his cheeks look dark and hollowed. Mike tries to pick up his own hand, but the bones shatter in his grip, leaving him with nothing but a palm full of dust.

The dream is disturbing and Mike does his best to push it away as he wakes. He makes his way into the shower and gets ready for work. He brushes his teeth quickly and dresses and by the time he’s ready to go there’s a knock on his door.

Mike’s busy searching for his keys, so he yells to Tré to answer it. He finds his keys in the pocket of the jeans he wore yesterday and when Mike walks out of his room he drops them from his hands.

Billie is standing in the open doorway of their apartment. His hair is cut shorter and his face looks clean, no trace of any blood or a scab. Though, when Mike gets closer he does see a pinkish-white scar in its place.

Billie’s wearing a black, button up short-sleeve shirt and some dark jeans. A dirty pair of Chuck Taylors complete the image. His hands are in his pockets and he gives a nervous smile, “Hello, Mike.”

 


	12. In The End/The One I Want

“Hello, Mike.”

“Billie,” Mike says and his heart clenches around the name he hasn’t spoken in months.

“I’m just going to leave you two. Go tell Red you need a personal day or something, hm?” Tré says and grins when Mike does nothing but stare at Billie. He dances around Billie and out the door, leaving the two alone.

“Can I come in?” Billie asks.

He snaps out of it then, “Oh, uh, yeah. Come on in.” Mike shuts the door behind Billie. He can’t help but watch the man move into his apartment, his body solid and real and _there._

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure, what have you got?”

Mike tears his eyes away and searches the fridge, “Uhh, beer and water?”

Billie chuckles, “Water is fine.”

He pours a glass and holds it out to Billie. As the shorter man takes it their fingers brush and a little shock runs through Mike. He wonders if Billie felt it too.

“You look good.” Mike says and really means it. He vaguely recalls the way Billie had looked lying in that hospital bed, pale and weak. Now his skin has a healthy tan, he looks full and solid and all Mike can think about is touching him. Like he wants to prove to himself Billie really is there.

“Thanks.” Billie says quietly, “I feel better. They put me in physical therapy for three months. Bounced back pretty quick.”

“That’s great.” Mike exclaims. He wants to ask Billie why he hasn’t contacted him sooner, if he really did remember him. He wants to ask why now? And apologize for not visiting Billie in the hospital afterward. And more than anything he wants to know if Billie has feelings for him, if maybe he’d want to continue where they’d left off. To be friends again, or more than friends.

“I can see those cogs turning, Mike. I know you have questions.” Billie states and smiles when Mike blushes, “You’ve never been anything but an open book. Nice to see you haven’t changed.

Mike laughs, “Yeah, I guess I haven’t. I just… I wanted to know…”

“Why I never came here sooner?”

“Yeah,” Mike breathes, relieved he didn’t have to be the one to say it.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Mike glances away. He knew Billie would say that.

“At first, to be honest I didn’t remember you. I didn’t remember anything.” Billie says, “They had to tell me what had happened to me. It all came rushing back after that, my brother, the accident, you.” He gives Mike a soft look, “And then I didn’t try to contact you because, well, I was still a little mad at you. You had kept that whole vision thing from me and I was upset.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that.” Mike says, finally being able to give that apology.

“I know,” Billie gives a soft smile before continuing, “But I had a lot to deal with. My brother was devastated, he blamed himself and we had a _lot_ of long heart to hearts. Things are better between us now, not perfect, but I’m not expecting them to be. And my mother, well, Jesus the woman was smothering me. I’ve never been so happy than the day I went back to my own apartment.” He laughs, his eyes bright, “Not that I don’t appreciate all that she did for me, of course. Anyway, since then it was mostly just me working up the courage to come back to you. I was afraid that if I came back you would have already moved on.”

Billie ducks his head, fingers playing with the water glass in his hand before he sets it down. He keeps his eyes on the glass as he asks, “Have you?”

When Billie finally meets his eyes Mike shakes his head, smiling wide and feeling giddier than ever, “No.” He laughs, “No, no I haven’t. I couldn’t.”

Billie smiles too, “Me neither.”

They grin like idiots at each other for a few seconds before Mike says, “You know Billie, I should probably tell you. I had one more vision thing of you since we last talked. It was you waking up.”

“Oh,” Billie nods, “I actually don’t remember waking up.”

“Good,” Mike swallows, “It wasn’t pleasant.”

He manages to look guilty for a moment before Mike assures him he has no reason to be.

"I'll never understand why you were the only one able to see me, Mike. Why you had these... these visions of me. But I'm grateful." His eyes flicker up to Mike's shyly, but mostly remain glued to the glass of water in front of him, "I missed you."

Mike feels a warmth spread through his chest at those words, easily echoing Billie's words, "I missed you too."

As if it has a mind of its own, Mike's hand snakes across the counter that's dividing them, landing on where Billie's resting his own next to his glass.

The touch sends pleasant little shivers down his spine and he's rounding the counter before he realizes what he's doing, arms reaching out to _touch_ and he _does_ and Mike makes a small gasp at the contact.

Billie's facing him, looking healthy and gorgeous, his shoulders warm and solid beneath Mike's palms and it's all he can do not to just lean in an kiss the other man.

But Billie beats him to it because suddenly there's soft, pouty lips shyly touching his own and Mike smiles, nervously kissing back while his stomach does somersaults because this moment is _real_.

Mike's palms are warm where they slide down to Billie's side, pressing into his hips and his own skin tickles where one of Billie's hands slide through his hair, the other on his arm, fingertips disappearing beneath his shirt sleeve.

The kiss ends shortly after it begins, but their bodies remained pressed in close to each other. Mike refusing to let Billie fade from his arms again.

Mike gazes into Billie's bright eyes, a grin playing on his lips, "So, how does it feel to kiss a totally hot guy, y'know, just your type?"

A smile splits across Billie's face and he shrugs, "Like a dream."

Mike leans in to kiss him again, his arms tightening around Billie Joe in his hold, "Nuh-uh. This time its for real."

He smiles when Billie squeezes him back.

 

**_Fin_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just added the last like 300 words because that's where it had been left off at... It probably doesn't measure up but I'm just not the writer I used to be? Idk, hope it was okay. Thanks for reading!


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